


Knowing Politics

by rei_c



Series: Knowledge 'Verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Incest, M/M, Politics, Secrets, Self-Hatred, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-05
Updated: 2008-10-05
Packaged: 2020-09-02 09:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Dean wants answers. Sam's not going to give them up easily.





	1. Chapter 1

They're south of Belle Chasse and coming up on the lights of Callender Field when Sam finally says something. "We could probably stay down here a couple days." Dean glances over; Sam's staring out of the side window. "Call Dad and let him know we're stationary, take some time to deal with some of our people." 

Dean looks back at the road, stops for a light. "Might not be a bad idea," he says, carefully. "There are things we need to deal with?" 

"Always," Sam says. A few miles pass before Sam goes on to say, "I haven't. I took the easy way out, I think, releasing _l'esprit_. How much of what you know is practical and how much theoretical?" 

"More theory, I think," Dean says after a minute's thought. He keeps on LA-23 as it curves left, heading to cross the ICWW. "But practical as well. Mathieu was a _konfians kay_ for a long time." 

Sam hums, a noncommittal noise. "Penny will come," he says. "You should meet with your group. She'll go with you."

Before he can stop himself Dean asks, "Not you?" He doesn't like the thought of going in to a meeting of Petro vodouisantes with only a Rada horse for back-up, likes even less the thought of leaving Sam by himself. 

"There are things I need to do." Sam doesn't sound as if he particularly wants to do them. Dean asks what they are, Sam reaches up to push his hair off of his face. "I should meet with the monseigneur, for one, and some of the leaders of the various _sosyetes_ for another. No doubt the _badjikan_ has a whole list of things I need to do and people I need to call."

Dean doesn't want to push the issue, especially after the day they've had, but he can't help himself. "Are you sure you should meet with the _sosyetes_ alone?" he asks, trying to aim for concerned instead of slighted, worried instead of angry. Ogou murmurs that he worded that well, that he might be learning after all. Dean wants to smack the loa. 

Sam looks over, reaches out and places his hand on Dean's thigh. "I'll be fine," he says. "I promise." 

Dean takes one hand off the steering wheel, covers Sam's hand with his own. Sam's skin is warm. There's no trace of Danny or any other loa that Dean can feel. "Okay," he says. "Call Penny. If she doesn't want to come down or can't, I'll be fine." 

The air outside is cooling off. The lights of US-90 beckon. Dean signals and merges on to the highway, heading for the bridge and downtown New Orleans. 

\--

The _badjikan_ doesn't say much when he opens the door to see Sam and Dean standing there, merely raises an eyebrow and observes, "Y'all look alive for comin' out of Buras." 

Dean rolls his eyes and grins but watches carefully as the _badjikan_ studies Sam, relaxing only after the _badjikan_ has. "Could've gone worse," Dean says, as cheerfully and upbeat as he can sound. Being out of Plaquemines, being here, safe in the city, he sounds pretty damn relaxed. 

Sam grins, looks back at Dean to hold out a hand. "I'll take any messages you have," Sam tells the _badjikan_. "We'll be here at least a couple days to deal with anything urgent. But right now, Dean and I are going to raid the kitchen. Please tell me there's food." 

The _badjikan_ watches as Dean takes his brother's hand, squeezes, lets Sam pull him closer. "Danny passed the message on like she said she would," the _badjikan_ says. He looks a little disturbed, like something isn't at all what he was expecting it to be. Dean has no idea what that something is, what he's doing wrong or right or not at all. 

"_You relax,_" Ogou says. "_Don't worry 'bout him._" 

"Marianne sent over some things while you was coming back," the _badjikan_ calls out as Sam tugs Dean into the kitchen. "Don't eat all of it, y'hear?"

Sam lets go of Dean once he has his other hand on the refrigerator handle. He crouches down to look at the contents of the bottom shelf and Dean reaches over Sam's head, pulls out two beers and a pitcher. "Hey, milk punch," he says, peering into the pitcher. "Awesome." 

While Dean's searching for glasses, Sam stands up, soup pan in one hand, casserole dish in the other. He takes the lid off of the pan, dips his finger in to whatever's inside, sucks his finger clean. Dean watches, feels his throat go dry as Sam's cheeks hollow and his eyelids flutter closed. 

"This is Juline's pecan soup," Sam murmurs. "Oh, _Ayizan_. You've never had soup until you've had this." 

If Sam keeps making that face, Dean's pretty sure he'll never get to try it. Sam opens his eyes, fixes a dark and knowing gaze on Dean, hints of Karrefour and Danny swirling around like a whirlpool. 

Dean swallows, asks, "Hot or cold?" and feels his voice catch, hoarse. 

"Hot," Sam says, after a minute of silence, holding Dean's eyes. "Looks like Marianne sent over some chicken creole, as well. Guess she heard you're still working on seafood." 

Sam stands there, holding the dishes, not moving until Dean steps backwards. Dean hadn't been in the way, hadn't been moving; he's not sure what the look in Sam's eyes means but he knows enough to be wary of it. He pulls a chair from the table in the alcove, straddles it and rests his arms on the back of it, holding watching as Sam as he ladles out half of the soup into a different pot, putting it over low heat, taking half of the chicken out of the casserole dish and turning the oven in. 

"Why the extra dishes?" Dean asks, then says, "Oh, for the _badjikan_ to have later?" 

"Also so the dishes don't crack, going from cold to hot," Sam says. 

Dean should have known that. 

\--

The food doesn't take long to heat up enough to smell. Dean's stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since Sam was handing over beignets for breakfast. After the day they've had, after everything that's happened, now Dean's starting to get hungry. He eyes the pitcher of milk punch and Sam must see even as he's cutting open a muffaletta loaf. 

Sam sets the knife down, reaches up to a cabinet and pulls down a pair of glasses without looking. He fills them both with milk punch, finally looks at Dean. His head tilts in invitation, one eyebrow raised. 

Dean grins wolfishly, gets out of the chair and stalks over to Sam. Sam's still facing the counter so Dean plasters himself to Sam's back, reaches around and takes a glass. "Love this stuff," he says, quiet but heated, before draining the entire glass. The bourbon slides smooth down his throat, milk cold as ice and vanilla sweet enough to take the edge off. He sets the glass back on the counter, licks his lips, then leans forward and drags his teeth over the nape of Sam's neck, feeling his brother shiver under him. 

"You'll get drunk," Sam says, just as quietly. "And if you're going to slam anything down, do it with beer. Don't waste the punch." 

Dean's fingers, skittering over Sam's hips, still. He's not sure if that was a warning or a rebuke or _what_ the hell it was. Sam twists in his grasp and Dean catches sight of a laughing smirk on his brother's lips before Sam's kissing him. 

"_Tricky _bata," Ogou mutters. He doesn't sound upset, though, more resigned, even when the blood in Dean's veins has started burning with the urge to really _touch_ his brother. It's been days since they've done anything more than fall into the same bed and sleep. 

Sam's eyes are downcast as he lifts one hand, puts it on Dean's chest. He's not pushing Dean away, not wordlessly telling Dean to stop. Rather, it seems like he's trying to reassure himself that Dean's real, there, and that has Dean worried enough to try and control himself. Before Dean can ask what kind of crazy thing's running though Sam's mind, his brother says, "I noticed, y'know." 

Dean frowns, thinks before saying, slowly, "I'm not psychic, Sam. Noticed what?" 

"Last night, with Lissa, then today," Sam says. He looks up, eyes searching Dean's. "You didn't say much about Marinette. You could've. I." Sam stops there, looks away again. "I appreciate it. I know it isn't easy." 

"Understatement," Dean says, tone flat. Sam doesn't flinch but it's a close thing. Dean doesn't call his brother on it, just adds, "Just like it isn't easy for you to keep dealing with it, over and over again. So you do what you have to and don't hold back on my account, okay? I'm at least twice as tough as you, you big girl. I can handle it if you can." 

Sam meet Dean's eyes again, studies Dean. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Sam nods and his shoulder slump as he leans forward. He rests his forehead on Dean's, lets out a deep breath that sounds as if it's been held since yesterday. "Thank you," Sam murmurs, almost too quiet for Dean to hear. 

Dean does, though, and can't help feeling worried at how utterly drained Sam sounds. Dean thinks back, tallies up hoodoo stuff, vodou stuff, dealing with the _memeres_, pulling a _loup-garou_ back to human form, and channelling as much of Ge-Rouge as he did, comes up with exhaustion. 

"Hey," Dean says, poking Sam in the side. "Are you hungry or tired? You can go to bed if you want. I'm more than capable of pulling stuff out of an oven on my own." 

"I'm fine," Sam says. Dean gives Sam a look of completely unconvinced skepticism and hides a grin when Sam straightens up, affronted. "When your." He stops abruptly, shakes his head. "When you tangle with Ge-Rouge, you try staying awake for more than an hour. I'm fine." 

Dean knows just as well as Sam that Sam had been about to say something else. Dean gives his brother a long look but doesn't push, instead saying, "Sit down and try some of the punch. I'll pull everything out of the oven when you tell me to." He gestures towards the chair, stepping backward; he doesn't want to let Sam out of reaching distance, wants to lay Sam down and kiss every square inch of his skin, but now that Sam's not hiding anything he looks as if he's about to fall to pieces.

Sam gives him a lopsided smile as if he knows exactly what Dean's thinking. He moves away, goes to sit down, snagging Dean's refilled glass of milk punch on the way. 

\--

After they eat, Dean hustles Sam to bed. Sam doesn't protest too much, which is worrying in itself, but then Sam falls asleep. Dean doesn't. Instead, he watches Sam, illuminated by streetlights flooding in through the window, the noises of the French Quarter filtering in the open window. His brother looks pale under his ever-present tan and there are deep hollows under his eyes, black smudges Dean has the urge to try and wipe away with his thumb. 

"Poto mitan_ taking too much up on himself_," Ogou says after a moment that Dean spends just looking. "_Get some sleep, _cheval_. Busy day coming up._"

Dean swipes at Ogou but does as instructed, burrowing in next to Sam, keeping one hand over the tattoo on Sam's hip. Sam might have held on to Dean earlier but it's Dean's turn now. 

\--

Waking is usually a slow process, stretching out and enjoying the peace and quiet that comes from a good night's sleep. Sometimes, others times, after a hunt, movement hurts and he could do with a few more hours in bed, preferably after a blowjob and a couple painkillers, aided by Danny's scent and the warmth of Sam curled up into him. 

This morning, the sounds of the Quarter drifting in along with a mist that'll probably turn into pure humidity later, is neither of those kinds of mornings. This is one of his favourite kinds, where Sam is pressed up against him, is naked, and is sucking his mark onto Dean's neck. 

"Are you trying to take advantage of me?" Dean asks, not bothering to open his eyes, not moving at all. 

Sam snorts, throws one leg over Dean's, spreads out one of his huge hands over Dean's hip. "No," he says, and even through the dry tone Dean's hearing something else. He cracks one eye and his vision clears just as Sam adds, "I'm trying to wake you up and _then_ I'm going to take advantage of you." 

The something else that Dean heard is written all over Sam's face. Dean hasn't seen need this deep from Sam since St. Louis, has hardly seen it at all since Sam threw him to the floor of a cheap motel room and growled out a claim that had Dean convinced Sam had been possessed or hijacked or worse. Of course, Dean's consistently been the overly possessive one in this relationship but he's going to meet with other vodouisantes today. If Sam wants to stake a claim and make it visible, Dean has no issue with that. He just wonders where it's coming from, why now, why he isn't feeling the same way. 

"It's not like I'm going to protest," Dean says, mildly, arching a little to pop his back. He sees Sam watching him, hungry and barely in control despite his teasing. Dean remembers barging into their bathroom and giving Sam much the same look once; he's half-amazed Sam's able to smile, though his brother's always been one stubborn son of a bitch. "So. You were saying?" 

Sam hums, looks at Dean as if he knows exactly what Dean is doing, and then slides down the bed, taking Dean's cock in his mouth. Dean's wide awake then, groans when Sam's teeth drag a hint of pressure up the shaft and his tongue follows a second later, licking to take out the sting.

It's almost more concentration than Dean has left to ask Ogou, "_This is just him, right? This isn't. He's, oh, fuck, he's just him?_" 

Sam looks up, eyes dark and deep like Karrefour without _being_ Karrefour, and lets his lips slide off of Dean's dick with a wet pop. He tilts his head, hair falling over one eye, and asks, "Would you like it to be more than just me?" 

Even if Dean did, which he doesn't, he's not about to argue with that tone. "Just blow me, Sam. Or, hey, I could always fuck you."

"Awake enough for that?" Sam asks, before nuzzling at Dean's balls, tongue flicking out and tasting once, twice. 

Dean's vision sharpens. He heard the challenge in Sam's question, isn't entirely sure what answer Sam's expecting. Well, fuck it, he's never done anything anyone's expected of him; he isn't going to start now. "I'm always awake enough to give you anything you need," he says, and if he sounds girly, the way he's looking at Sam definitely isn't. "If you want me to fuck you, I'll fuck you." He reaches down, curls his hand in Sam's hair, pulls gently until he sees Sam's eyes gleam, then pulls harder. 

Sam shakes out of Dean's grasp, kneels between Dean's spread legs, tall and gleaming with sweat, tattoos black against Sam's fading tan. Dean scans the tattoos, habit by this point, and narrows his eyes when he notices that Ti-Jean's vévé looks red around the lines of ink, slightly puffy. It's never a good thing when Sam's tattoos do that but it does give Dean a trail to follow. He just hopes he's awake enough for this and that Sam won't hold it against him; Dean's gone far too long without sex as it is and what he's about to do will pretty much ensure he won't be getting any this morning. 

"Seems to me the dwarf's riding you a little rough," Dean says, eyes fixed on Sam's even as he nods towards the vévé. "Come to think of it, Ogou said it was Ti-Jean who flushed Ge-Rouge out of you. That true?" 

The loa flicker in Sam's eyes. "Yes," Sam finally replies, head tilted to one side as if he doesn't know what Dean's doing or where this interrogation is going. He must, though, because Ogou's guessed and is telling Dean this is perhaps the stupidest thing he's ever done. 

Dean doesn't care what the loa says. Just to prove it, to shut Ogou up, Dean tells Sam, "He could've done a better job." 

Sam's eyes gleam, then close off completely. "Could he," Sam says. If Dean wasn't expecting the cold, inflection-less tone, if he wasn't trying to provoke it, he'd probably be scared. 

"He put one hell of a guilt-trip on you," Dean observes. "A fucking unnecessary one from where I'm sitting." 

The air in the room quickly gains an electrical quality, not from Karrefour but from the heated metals of Ti-Jean, a smell like burning ore in Dean's nostrils. Dean doesn't take his eyes off of Sam, especially when the loa swarm Sam's eyes and the skin around the edges of Ti-Jean's vévé turns pink. 

"Unnecessary," Sam says, flatly. When Dean nods, Sam bares his teeth. "Maybe you should get up and get a different view, then." Sam's tone bites, now, sharp and cutting. 

Dean leans back on one elbow, shrugs the other shoulder. "Don't think so," he says. Easiness is right out of the window, watching Sam watch him, but casual, Dean's trying hard to sound casual. "I like the view," he adds, leering at his brother's naked body. 

Sam stands there, surveys him like a shepherd might look at a sheepdog who isn't performing up to standards, and then says, "Penny will be here in a few minutes to pick you up. You should shower." Sam moves, picks up a pair of sweats and a grubby old t-shirt, slides them on. "I'll leave you to get food on your own." 

This isn't what Dean had been expecting; he's worried, now. "Whoa, Sam," he says, but Sam merely shakes his head. 

"_When was the last time the _poto mitan_ done something you 'xpected?_" Ogou murmurs. 

"_Shut. Up,_" Dean tells the loa even as he's getting out of bed. He goes over to Sam, puts a hand on Sam's arm and recoils with the feeling of the loa inside of his brother. Danny's there, furious but pleased, Karrefour as well as the dwarf, but Sam's muscles are tense with the presence of Ge-Rouge. "Sam," Dean breathes. "Sam, come on."

Sam slides away from Dean. In his panic, Dean thinks that Sam's eyes are tinged red again but when he blinks and looks closer, they're back to normal. "You need to spend time with your people," Sam says. "Penny and a few others will help you. I have a list of things to deal with from the _badjikan_. I'll see you later." 

"Don't leave here mad at me," Dean says, low but intense. "Sam, don't you dare walk out of that door if you're mad at me." 

Sam's hand, on the doorknob, drops off. He turns, looks back at Dean, and the smile on his lips almost makes Dean sick. "I'm not _mad_," Sam says, "not at _you_," and leaves. 

"_Don't you go after him, _cheval," Ogou warns, even as Dean's throwing open the door and listening, trying to figure out which direction Sam went in. 

"_Why the fuck not, huh?_" Dean asks. "_I got him mad and I don't want him leaving before he gets it through his thick skull that I._"

He stops there and the loa murmurs, teasingly, "_That you, what?_"

Dean's only glad that no one's there to see him flush. "_Dude._" He clears his throat, waits for his cheeks to stop burning, and says, "Fuck. He's gone. Could we track him?"

"If you and your rider wanted to," the _badjikan_ says, delicately, as he approaches from one end of the hallway, "you could. You the hunter's _cheval_, after all. Best not to, though. _Poto mitan_ letting out a sign that he ain't to be troubled by no one, 'less he invite it." 

"Great," Dean says with a sigh. "Just great." 

He's fucked up. Again. 

\--

Penny's waiting downstairs in the front room when Dean comes down, freshly showered and dressed. Dean doesn't like this room, can still feel the snap of Dennis' neck under his hands when he comes in here like she's haunting the place. Penny turns when Dean clears his throat. 

"Strange to be back," she says, then shakes her head as if physically moving herself to a different subject. "You ready?" 

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Ready for what?" 

She throws her head back and laughs. "Aw, Dean, don't tell me Sam's throwing you into the water without swimming lessons." Dean's less than impressed; Penny seems to get that from his silence. Her laughter trails off and she looks unsure as she says, "He didn't. He _did_?" 

"Said you'd be there," Dean mutters. He feels like an idiot. "He said." Dean stops there, sits down on the sofa with a thump. He rubs his forehead, adds, "Sink or swim. Right. Well, I did say I wanted to prove I belonged. Damn it." 

Penny comes over, pats Dean on the shoulder, and says, "They're gathering out of the Quarter, over in the Ninth. We have sympathetic friends that way. Come on. We'll pick up breakfast at Annette's and by the time we get to New Orleans East, everyone will be ready." 

"Everyone except me," Dean says. She grins, fusses Dean right out of the door. 

\--

Penny buys him breakfast at Annette's, leans over the counter and sweet-talks the woman behind it into giving them omelettes in between pieces of toast. Dean watches, amused, but he can't stop thinking about Sam. He did something this morning and has no idea what, hasn't gone after Sam the way he wants, doesn't know who Sam's with or what kind of trouble Sam might be getting himself into right this very second. 

"_Better stop thinkin' like that or them other _chevaux_ gonna eat you up and spit you out,_" Ogou murmurs. 

"_You aren't helping,_" Dean mutters back.

Ogou sighs, reminds Dean, "_He been doing this longer than you, _cheval_. He got power you ain't got no clue 'bout. Don't worry 'bout him when you should be worrying 'bout your own ass._" 

They bicker back and forth even after Penny's shoved food and coffee into Dean's hands, even after Dean trails Penny down the street and over to a bus stop. It's not until they've taken that bus, gotten off, and are waiting for _another_ bus that Penny finally turns to him and asks, "How many times have you been in New Orleans before?" 

"Handful," Dean says, shrugging. "If you're asking how many times I've been here since I've been a horse, this'll make my second. I don't think two nights ago counts; we were just in the city overnight." He narrows his eyes at Penny, tosses his empty coffee cup into a garbage can, and asks, "Why?"

"'Cause we're taking the long way 'round and you should probably pay attention," Penny replies, nodding as the bus comes into sight. "This is _your_ city, after all." 

Dean frowns, doesn't understand the emphasis or the implicit warning he heard in her tone. This is Sam's town more than it's his, no matter what the _konesan_ in his head says. Mathieu lived here and Dean appreciates a city with café au lait and the willingness to keep an eye out for his brother, sure, but Dean doesn't have a city. Dean has a car and the open road and that's all he needs. That's all he ever needed, apart from Sam.

Still, he doesn't ask questions and doesn't argue; he follows Penny on to a Route 64 bus and sits down in the row behind her, leaning against the window with one leg propped up on the seat next to his. 

"Get comfortable," Penny says. She mirrors his position and grins at him; Dean doesn't trust the look. "We have half an hour." 

Dean groans, says, "I could've driven," and wishes he'd pulled it together enough to ask instead of blindly following her out of the Quarter. 

"_And whose fault that be, don't ask,_" Ogou crows. 

\--

The bus takes them on I-10, over the high-rise and Chef Menteur, down Dwyer to the corner of Lake Forest and Read. Dean's fallen half asleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of the bus on the roads, the asphalt under the tyres, the creaking of the seats, the quiet jazz on the radio. He's been awake enough to see parts of the city out of the windows, mostly just more roads and parking lots, a few houses here and there. 

It's an odd feeling, watching New Orleans open along one of its main arteries. He never liked that phrase much before, preferred to call roads roads and have done with it, but this is different. This city is different. I-10 _is_ an artery, a path from the heart of the Quarter and the history leading out into the bayous. Planners and architects were determined to let New Orleans grow and Dean can respect that, can see why they pushed so hard to reclaim land back from the lake, but as they drive over the Industrial Canal, his loa gets chills, passes them on to Dean. 

"_What is it?_" Dean asks, waiting until they're back on land, struggling to full wakefulness. 

Ogou's quiet, doesn't answer right away. "_You 'member Davant_?" the loa finally asks. Dean gets chills, doesn't have to respond. "_That ain't happened here yet. It got all the feeling of it, though._"

Dean glances at Penny, who has her nose buried in some book. She looks up as if she can feel Dean's eyes on her, raises an eyebrow. Dean shakes his head. 

\--

They step off of the bus into a wall of humidity; Dean grimaces, thinks of ice. He takes a look around, sees what looks like a run-down monstrosity of a mall, and glances at Penny. 

"The old Lake Forest Plaza," she says, turning away from the mall towards the park. "They say it looks better inside but I've never been. Sam has." 

"Sam?" Dean asks, giving the mall a closer look. It's hard to think of his brother in a neighbourhood like this appears to be but, then again, it was once hard to think of Sam as a vodouisante. 

Penny hums, says, "This is his city, too, Dean. The base of his power, some think. Makes sense he'd get to know all of it, not just the Quarter. I can't say for sure; I met him for the first time over in San Francisco, never saw him down here until Dennis. I heard he visited quite a bit, though." 

Dean nods, figures he'll have to get a better timeline from Sam. He knows that Sam was ridden first in San Francisco, knows that at some point Sam spent enough time with Lissa to learn French, spent some time with the _memeres_ in Buras, thinks that Sam travelled a little, at least to the major power centres and big cities. 

"What do you think?" Dean asks. Penny asks what about, and Dean says, "You said that some people think New Orleans is the base of Sam's power. What do you think?"

Penny gives Dean a look, then turns to face the entrance to Joe Brown Park. "I'm a Rada horse," she says, "ridden by a Rada healer. Sam is primarily a Petro horse even if some of the Rada do seem to like him. That means I don't understand him as well as I could if I were one of you. But there's something about Sam that transcends this city. Other _konfians kays_, if we leave our city, the boundaries of our _hounfò_ and our _abitasyon_, we lose the protection of the loa and the power of our predecessors. Sam doesn't work that way. Whether that's because he's the living _poto mitan_ or not, I don't know. Neither do any of the others initiated since the last _poto mitan_."

"And the ones who've been around longer?" Dean asks. 

"You carry the _konesan_ of one," Penny answers tartly. "You tell me." 

Dean gives Penny an irritated look and sighs. "Great," he mutters. 

"Look, Dean," Penny says after they've both been standing there in silence for a good two minutes. "This isn't Catholicism, okay? We don't exactly have a history spanning two thousand years written down for anyone and everyone to read, with strict answers that will always fit strict theological questions. We're _vodouisantes_. One hundred years ago, the _sosyetes_ still allied with the _poto mitan_ and were ridden by the loa. Now, no one would imagine any member of a _sosyete_ as a horse. Two years ago, no one would have guessed that Marinette would be locked up." Dean flinches. "If you want to know where Sam's power comes from or where it's based, then the only way you'll find out is by asking him." 

"Not a loa?" Dean asks, giving Penny a side-long glance. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "As well as I know your lover? No one loa will know everything. He has a _konesan_ too, y'know, and he's inherited all the knowledge of the past _poto mitans_. They weren't all sunshine and roses; there's a reason we have the reputation we do. Now. Are you ready to go meet your people or would you like to stand here and debate our origins and Sam's history?"

Dean glares at her, sets off for the park, leaving her to scramble, following him. 

"I get itchy talking about it," she says, once they're walking side-by-side, after a few minutes have passed. Dean would swear he can hear it getting warmer. "Sam's ridden by some of the meanest and most ruthless loa that exist. I don't." She cuts herself off, huffs. "Not many of us want to know how he can do that or want to think about what he is in and of himself to be _able_ to do that without going crazy." 

That's a peace offering if Dean's ever heard one. He bumps Penny's arm, says, looking straight ahead, "If you think I'm always okay with it, think again. I deal, though. We both do." 

Penny gives Dean a thin, strained smile. "Come on," she says, linking her arm with Dean's. "Let's get this over with and get you back to your man in one piece." 

\--

They follow Waterford around the pond and over the bridge, finding the low corner near the Audubon reserve down by Dwyer. As they get closer, Dean can see a small group of people scattered in the midst of the trees, sitting on blankets. Once they're almost there, he does a quick estimate of the head-count, figures somewhere between thirty and forty people have shown up. They look as if they're all getting along but Dean knows far too well the mood-swings a Petro horse can have, especially with other Petro vodouisantes around. 

It's clear that Dean and Penny have been sighted, watched since they stepped off the bike path and started wandering over this way. Dean glances around, meets the gaze of about half the people, nods at a few he remembers from the time Sam introduced him to them all. Sam knew each one of them by name; if that was the loa, Dean doesn't know, but he knows he's nowhere near as good at this as his brother. 

"Relax," Penny hisses out of the side of her mouth. "You Petro are like dogs, y'know." 

Before he can take offense, Dean pauses, thinks, and gives her a wry grin. She's right. Even if Dean hadn't been able to tell when people were afraid of him before Ogou, he can now. Granted, none of the others are constantly ridden but they _are_ horses and Petro vodouisantes give themselves to the loa. A breed of their own, Sam once said and Dean's heard it repeated and seen it in action often enough to believe it.

With that in mind, thinking of his brother, Dean comes to a halt a few steps away from the front-most members of the group, and says, mildly, "Morning." 

A few respond, a few smile back, but most are blank-faced and silent. Dean wants to grimace but doesn't and Ogou moves in the back of his head, says, "_Don't you worry_, cheval."

"You have the loa?" a man from the back asks as most of the vodouisantes' faces turn from even and blank to show shock. "You ain't in ceremony." 

Dean eyes the man but when Ogou prods at him and a younger woman near the front bites back a gasp, he sighs, pulls down the collar of his shirt to show off the tattoo. "Yeah," he says. "Ogou stays with me pretty much all the time." 

A different man leans forward from where he's sitting, back against the tree, woman nestled in the 'v' that his legs make. She mutters something under her breath but moves as well, lets the man look over her left shoulder. "Are you all knotted up like the _badjikan_?" he asks.

Someone else murmurs something about Dean not sounding like Ogou, someone else says that they didn't notice this back when Dean was first introduced as their _konfians kay_, and Dean can feel Penny edge backwards, Rada horse in a Petro gathering feeling nervous as the vodouisantes seem to scent blood. 

Dean holds up his hands, tells them to calm down in a loud voice on the verge of yelling. "I'm not tangled up like the _badjikan_. There's me and then there's Ogou. It comes from being the other half to the _poto mitan_ and the other half to _his_ other half. Ogou doesn't want to leave Danny and since Sam's a trinity, that means Ogou doesn't want to leave me. The tattoo was a Christmas present from Sam and it just means that I can still be ridden even when we're separated. If you want to know the details, ask Sam. He's the _poto mitan_; he knows more about this than I do. Hell, he's probably the only reason this works."

"How far does that go?" someone else asks. "Across the country and as long as it takes?" 

"I'm not sure," Dean replies, shrugging, letting his hands drops down to his sides. "We've never tested it. This is the longest we've been out of each other's sight since I became a horse, not to mention the farthest apart."

A low hum spreads through the vodouisantes and they look at each other, relax. Even better, it hasn't gotten back to quiet, isn't the blankness Dean encountered just a few minutes ago. They've accepted his explanation; without Sam here, they've accepted _Dean_. His throat tightens; Dean doesn't know what to say. He never expected this. 

"_Should'a,_" Ogou tells him, the loa smacking him, curling up to rest in his muscles. "_Petro loa, we take care o' our own._"

A few seem to catch the edge of Ogou's presence, turn as if there's a different sun to bask in, ignoring the humidity surrounding them, the relentless heat and light that the trees' shade isn't doing much to filter. Dean stares, remembers the way the vodouisantes in St. Louis did the same thing to Sam. 

Dean's only met this group once before, and that was with Sam and Tony at either side, letting Ogou sit in judgment of them all. Now, with Penny standing at back behind him, a sea of people in front of him, the initial meeting come and gone, Dean feels on edge. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say, doesn't have any idea what these people are expecting from him. Even worse, he has no idea what Sam's expecting to happen here. 

"_Nothing more than what you thinking 'bout,_" Ogou tells him. "_They just wanna get to know you._"

Dean thinks about that for a second, leans back against a tree, still standing but putting on a show, speaking through his body language and telling them that he's relaxed, not on his guard. He's telling the vodouisantes that he trusts them, that Ogou does as well. A few of them catch what he's doing, what he's saying, and they nod, melt a little. Dean scans the rest of them and says, "Last time we had business to take care of. This isn't business. I know you have things you want to ask me, things you don't know about me. Now's the time." 

Noise from Chef Menteur filters into the park, faint sounds that try to fill the silence but fail miserably. Dean doesn't move, doesn't say anything, just waits; he won't break and not just because he has Ogou writhing in amusement in the back of his head. 

"You be Danny's _masisi_, Karrefour's _mato_, Ogou's _cheval_," someone says. "What else you be, Dean Winchester?" 

Dean grins, doesn't care at all that he's baring his teeth in feral amusement. "First and foremost, I'm Sam's." He pauses, takes in the reactions. Put so bluntly, he can see where some people would be turned off, maybe even disgusted, especially with Ogou as his rider. These people, though, seem to agree, seem to approve. "No offense, but Sam's more important to me than any of you. It comes down to it, I'm with Sam every time."

The man sitting against the tree exchanges glances with a woman sitting closer to the front but it's someone else who speaks up, an older woman in the back of the crowd. "Best place to be," she says, almost too mildly to be a Petro. 

"Good to know he got someone looking out for him. The _poto mitan_'s a good man," someone else says. Dean sees more people nodding. "Better than we thought we'd get." 

"Better than we deserve," another person pipes up. "Fuck, after all the shit trouble we've gotten ourselves into since the last one?" 

More nodding and Dean's curious now. "What trouble?" he asks. Oh, he has Mathieu's _konesan_ and he's heard things from Ogou, but these people are talking about something specific. He'd _really_ like to know what that is. 

People look at him, study him and glare at him and watch him like they're trying to peel off the topmost layer of his skin, trying to burrow into him and see what makes him tick from the inside. 

"Some of us did some stupid stuff," Penny says, speaking up for the first time. The Petro bristle at what they see as an interruption; Dean would if she wasn't telling him something he's pretty sure he needs to know. He turns to face her, raises an eyebrow in silent question. "We got a little carried away, not having any authority. Sam's straightened us up, though. You've seen yourself what happens to the one who push their luck now." 

Seen it himself, yeah, Dean's seen it. Between Chicago and Dennis, Dean's seen a lot. "Anything in particular I should be worried about?" he asks. Even though he tried to speak as mildly as possible, Penny flinches, pales. 

"Not from us," one of the Petro says. Dean turns slowly, lays eyes on the crowd, _his_ crowd, _his_ people. Responsibility churns in his gut, that and fear, horror, but the Petro meet his eyes, some of them defiantly. "He one of us, Dean Winchester. We ain't deservin' of it but we trying to live up to it now we got it. _Konprann_?"

"Yeah, I get it," Dean says. "Good."

He stands in silence for a while, waiting to see if anyone else has something to say, either to add to what's already been said or a new question. No one does, so Dean says, "I wanted to ask you a question, if that's all right." 

One woman snorts, says, "You our _konfians kay_. Ask what you want." 

Dean blinks but takes that at face-value. He's ridden by Ogou for a reason, after all; subterfuge and subtlety has never been his strongest suit. "Are you sure you want me as your _konfians kay_?" 

Pockets of mutters break out all across the gathering. Dean frowns, confused at the reaction, and appreciates it when someone asks, "What do you mean?" 

"I don't think it's fair that I'm never here," he says slowly, trying to explain. "Sam will have to move around a lot and we're, y'know, hunters." He pauses, waits for a reaction to that, is almost disappointed when he doesn't get it. "It isn't fair to _you_. What if you need to ask your _konfians kay_ something and we're in Minnesota?" 

A woman in the middle leans back, raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You got a phone?" she asks. 

"Yeah," Dean says, taken-aback. 

"You got a car?" she asks next. 

Dean nods, says, "Yes." 

She shrugs. "If we need you, we call. If we need you here, you drive. 'Sides, chances are if we need you here for anything, we'd be callin' the _poto mitan_ too. Might has well have both of y'all come together."

"But if you need someone right away," Dean starts to say. 

The same woman gives Dean a grin, cuts him off. "It make you feel better 'bout things, you allowed a second, _papalwa_. Pick someone you trust to stand in your place while you gallivantin' 'bout the country with the _poto mitan_." 

Dean narrows his eyes, looks at the woman. She takes his glare in stride, doesn't break a sweat even though some of the others around her look as if they're thinking about edging away. "Who's your loa?" he asks. 

"Linglessou Basin-Sang," she replies. "When he feel free to shed favour, 'course." 

"_Strong woman_," Ogou murmurs thoughtfully. "_Might not be a bad choice._"

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. "_No shit, Sherlock. Now, would you _please_ shut _up?"

Ogou laughs but doesn't say another word. 

"Anyone gonna have a problem if I make her my second?" Dean asks loudly, looking around the group. 

The woman in question has an eyebrow raised but when no one says anything, she nods at Dean. "My pleasure, _papalwa_." 

Dean swats at Ogou, asks, "_Okay, that's the second time she's called me that. What's it mean?_"

"_Means you the _houngon_ in charge. Means,_" the loa adds, tone taking on a mischievous edge, "_you call her _mamalwa."

Eying the woman, ignoring the loa, Dean lets his gaze spread around the rest of the crowd as he asks, "Is there anything I should know about right now? Anything that needs to be taken care of?" 

The same man who'd spoken up at the beginning, asked if Dean was tangled in with Ogou, calls out, "You done all that needed doing right away. I think we're done. Ev'rybody else?"

Murmurs of agreement spread and when Dean nods, people start to stand, stretch out. A few of them leave without saying anything but most go over to Dean, introduce themselves. Dean doesn't think he'll be able to remember all of the names but Ogou's helping and Penny's right there, so it goes faster than Dean would have expected. 

It's not until there are only three people left that he relaxes, moves into the shade a little; the sun overhead has been beating down on him since he arrived. Dean sits down on the corner of one blanket after he's been invited by the woman he just named his second. 

"What's your name?" he asks. "Y'know, since you're my second-in-command. Might be useful if I ever wanted to call you." 

She grins, shows her teeth, and Dean thinks about the kind of person who would willingly be ridden by Linglessou Basin-Sang, who would do it more than once. "My mama comes from a long line of us, back to Haiti and before," she says, "but m'daddy's descended from one of them Spanish men came through. Every generation, the girl-child gets a Spanish name and the boy-child a French one. I'm Querida, though everybody calls me Rita. And this is Emil, my brother." 

Dean looks over at the man who'd halfway begun and definitely ended the gathering, exchanges nods with the man. A legacy like that, stretching back that far, goes a long way toward explaining why these two, out of so many others, stood up to Dean and Ogou, how they could do so with feral smiles on their faces. 

"I'm Abby," the other woman says, the one who's been sitting between Emil's legs the entire time, hasn't said one word yet. "I'm new."

"And I'm her _barriè_," Emil adds. His hold on her tightens; Dean watches Abby but she seems relaxed by the whole thing, not as if she's trapped or freaked out. 

Dean knows what it's like to be thrown into this culture and hopes she isn't getting the same kind of introduction. From the way Emil's curved around her, almost protecting her, Dean's sure she isn't. "Nice to meet you, Abby. I'm sort of new to this, too."

Rita grins, teeth gleaming in the sunlight even as the leaves above them shake in the breeze, cast doppled shadows over her face. Dean returns the smile because he understands it. 

\--

He stays with them and talks until the sun's directly at its zenith, then a couple hours past that. Emil and Rita are keen to share their insights with him, will be good people to leave in charge when Dean isn't here. They respect him as their _konfians kay_, take him seriously, listen to what Dean has to say even when Ogou's being quiet. He asks them about that before they leave, as they're standing up, shaking out the blankets. 

"You live with the _poto mitan_," Rita says. Dean's so taken in by her matter-of-fact tone that he almost misses the meaning of her words when she adds, "We terrified o' the man. Anyone who lives with him and goes on the road with him gets our respect." 

"Terrified?" Dean gapes. "Of _Sam_?" 

Rita and Emil exchange a look and Dean can see how deep their relationship swims; they don't need words but they're clearly communicating. For one deep, aching second, Dean's reminded of Sam, of the way they fought and left one another. Ogou smooths the hurt and whispers in Creole; Mathieu's _konesan_ turns those whispers into platitudes that Dean can understand. 

Rita's the one who speaks to explain though she doesn't look pleased about it. "The _poto mitan_ spends time with the _memeres_," she says. "He's learned hoodoo and was a willing horse for Marinette and now he's elevated Karrefour along with Danny and the dwarf to high status. He carries the _konesan_ of our past leaders, from those we loved to those we feared. He's a Petro trinity and he's still sane, _papalwa_. He's done some things that scare us and yet he's been the best _poto mitan_ we could ever have hoped for. So yes, we're terrified of him. Don't mean we don't love him, too."

"You live with him and you love him," Emil says, quietly, as Abby's standing off to one side, listening but trying not to. "You respect him but you tussle with him and his loa and you do it without fear. We've watched and we've heard. So yeah, we listen to you. 'Sides, no one better to be our _konfians kay_ than the one got the _poto mitan_'s ear." 

That's politics; Dean rolls his eyes but nods seriously when the smiles slip off Emil and Rita's faces, expression asking him if he understands. "I'll take care of him," he promises. 

"'S'all we ask," Rita says. 

She gives Dean a hug, as does Emil, and then the three other Petro walk off towards the main road. Dean watches them leave, puzzlement on his face even though his lips are curved up in the barest hint of a smile. 

"I haven't got a penny and I'm not paying more than that," Penny asks, finally separating from the tree she'd leaned against the moment Dean began interacting with his people -- _his_ people, and doesn't that feel strange. 

He feels his stomach twist at the thought, doesn't know whether that's good or bad, but decides he'll talk to Sam about it later. "I thought more of them would resent that I wasn't raised to this," he says, thinking of Dennis. "Or that I wouldn't be around that much." 

Penny shrugs. "I'm a Rada horse. I don't really understand the Petro but I do know this: if you're one of them, they'll never let you go. Well," she adds quickly, "if they're the right kind of Petro."

Dean thinks of Tony and the group in Chicago, can't help but remember Chicago and the way Sam judged all of those horses wanting. This group here, they aren't like Chicago at all but they aren't like the people in St. Louis, either. When they were here before, when Sam sat in judgment of them, they didn't turn to him like flowers to the sun. They watched him; oh, they respected him, that was clear, but they were wary, trust tempered with fear. 

He wonders if the people here know more about Sam than the people in St. Louis did and what he should know that he doesn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Penny has someone waiting for them, someone who feels like cool, shallow water. It isn't a Petro vodouisante but it isn't someone from outside, either. That leaves Rada; Dean feels the hair on the nape of his neck stand up but doesn't say anything, just slides in the backseat once Penny's settled in the front. 

They drive down Chef Menteur this time, take Louisa to St. Claude. Penny and the driver talk in low tones, leave Dean free to look at the window, watch the scenery pass by. Cities aren't really Dean's thing despite how well he blends in to them; something about the amount of grey, the height of the buildings blocking out sunlight, the way threats can come from every direction and getting the hell out of dodge takes more time than he likes. 

New Orleans is different, though. Sure, there are the galleries and balconies, the tourists and residents and long-term visitors, and the city itself has the smell of a history Dean isn't entirely comfortable with, but he feels like this city isn't so much a _city_ as a potential safehouse. Cities are generally impersonal, anonymous, but if there's one thing New Orleans has in spades, it's personality. Maybe Dean could get to like it here -- not as much as Sam, not like a home, but a home base to operate out of.

The car drops them off at the corner of Esplanade and North Peters, the noise of the French Quarter relaxing Dean as much as the smells, the crush of people, the feeling of safety. He checks himself outside of French Market, wonders just when crowds and noise meant he could unwind, trust those around him, wonders when this city slunk in below his radar and into his skin. 

He looks at Penny, who's watching fondly. "Seems this _is_ your city," she says. "I only feel the way you look when I'm in Biloxi. Come on, I'll buy you some coffee down at du Monde." 

Never one to pass up a good café au lait, Dean gives Penny a wide smile. "Beignets, too?" he asks. 

"Don't push your luck, _konfians kay_," Penny growls playfully. 

_Konfians kay_. Dean's a _konfians kay_ and his people approve of him. It doesn't seem real. 

\--

Penny buys him coffee but makes Dean spring for the beignets. It's been a while since the last time Dean went dutch with a girl but it _is_ only fair, especially when he eats half a dozen and she only eats two. They talk about nothing much, ensconced in a table near the edge of the under-awning café, until Penny takes a sip of her second café au lait and says, "You've met the _memeres_." 

Dean had been about to take a bite of his last beignet but puts the piece in his fingers down, looks at Penny. "Yeah," Dean says, wary. "Why?" 

"You were in Plaquemines," she says. Her cheeks are flushed; Dean doesn't think it's from the coffee. "How long?"

"A few hours." Dean isn't sure where this is going, decides he's not going to be any more specific until she is. 

She looks down, fiddles with the cup in her hands. "No reason. Just, there aren't many people that Sam takes down there to see 'em. I was curious, that's all." 

Relatively sure that there's more to this than what Penny's saying, Dean just hums, eats the last piece of the last beignet and downs the rest of his coffee. "Ready when you are," he says, glancing around at the tourists waiting for a table. His eyes connect with a person he thinks he knows. Dean wracks his brain, tries to figure it out, and then the person grins, showing teeth. She's one of the Petro he just met, not Rita or Abby, someone who blended in and didn't say much more than her name when everyone was introducing himself or herself. Connie, he thinks, and dips his head at her in acknowledgment before turning back to Penny. 

\--

They walk back to the house. Dean's shoulderblades are itching in the way that means someone is watching him, probably following him. He checks the mirrored glass of a building they pass and doesn't see anything suspicious. The wind changes and Dean sniffs, prompted by Ogou. 

"_One o' the _chevaux_ you met this morning_," the loa says. "_Seem like a Petro thing. You important to them. They be keeping an eye on you, make sure you safe._"

"_I don't need a minder_," Dean grumps. "_I can take care of myself._" 

Ogou snorts. "_So can the _poto mitan_ but you don't see him refusing the honour guard. Suck it up._"

Dean rolls his eyes. Penny gives him a worried look. Dean shakes his head, sighs. 

\--

Sam's not at the house. The _badjikan_ hasn't seen Sam since that morning and has no idea where Sam's disappeared to; he makes a few calls and comes up empty-handed. Dean takes the stairs two at a time and looks for a note in their bedroom, looks for any sign that Sam hasn't taken off furious with Dean. There's nothing. 

He goes back downstairs, feet thumping heavy on the steps, and shrugs in the face of Penny's concern and the _badjikan_'s blank expression. 

"_Any idea?_" he asks Ogou. 

The loa hears the desperation, the fear, in Dean's question but doesn't call him on it. "_Naw. My _trezò_ has a way o' going outta my sight. Gotta be the black magic ones he got with 'im._" Dean shivers at the thought of Karrefour and Ogou says, "_Gotta be t'other one. Dwarf makin' hisself more and more known these days. Flushed through the _poto mitan_ down in Plaquemines, had the _vévés_ all red and open this mornin'. Ain't got a clue what that means, though. Bastard has a tighter mouth than a virgin's cunt_."

"_Now you sound like the Baron,_" Dean tells the loa before saying, "Ogou says he's with Ti-Jean." His pulse is fluttering hard, fast. Ogou's a hunter and Dean wants his brother; standing here is taking all of Dean's concentration. 

The _badjikan_ exchanges looks with Penny and then snorts as he leaves, waving one hand above his shoulder. Dean looks at Penny, swallows and tries to slow his heartbeat. 

"Let's go out," Penny says. Dean hadn't been expecting that. "Let's go out and have a few drinks while we wait for our wayward _poto mitan_." She checks a watch, adds, "He won't be too much longer, at any rate. He would've called if he'd accepted a dinner invitation with someone else. Sam's always been polite like that." 

With everything in him thrumming a need to find Sam, Dean nods and says, "Sure. Let's go get some drinks." 

\--

'Some drinks' turn out to be two shots at every bar they pass, starting at Canal and Bourbon and making their way deeper into the Quarter. By the time they get to the Mango Mango where Rose works, Dean's got more than a pleasant buzz going. Rose can tell, whistles when he has trouble balancing on a stool at the bar. 

"Never thought I'd see you this far gone 'way from Sam," she says, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes flick to Penny then back to Dean; he wants to know what kind of look Penny gave Rose, turns to ask but nearly topples over. 

"Fucking how drunk _are_ you?" Kate asks, appearing out of nowhere, next to Dean, propping him up. 

He gives her a silly grin, sees the apron tied around her waist and the tendrils of hair clinging to the sweat on her forehead. "You're working," he says. "Not here?" 

Kate smiles, rolls her eyes. "Down the fucking street, Dean. Heard one of the bartenders say fuck-all about you. Where's Sam?" 

Her eyes take Penny in as well and Dean turns to the other _konfians kay_ and says, "Okay, tell me what you're telling them. Please," he adds, almost an afterthought. It never hurts to be polite, especially to the woman holding him upright. 

Penny levels an even gaze on Dean and throws back a test-tube, maybe her third shot of the evening. "They argued this morning and Sam left," she says. Dean feels a spike of pain drive itself right into the middle of his chest. He drops his head, sees a test-tube in one hand, decides it would do more good inside of his body than out. 

His hand is halfway to his mouth and he's leaning on Penny for balance when someone grabs his hand, fingers circling Dean's wrist, warm and long and familiar. Dean blinks, looks up, sees Sam standing there with a sad expression on a face that's seen better days. He frowns, takes his brother in, sees smudges of something on Sam's skin, sees the vévés scabbed over and bloodstains inked through Sam's shirt. 

"Look like _shit_," Dean says. 

Sam smiles, lets go of Dean's wrist. Dean panics, holds his hands up as if to stop Sam from leaving, and spills the shot all over himself. Penny sighs even as Sam's smile flickers in the night, fades away. "Come on," Sam murmurs, leaning forward and helping Dean stand up. "Let's get you home."

Dean doesn't argue, doesn't want to push his luck, either. If his brain was working at a normal speed, he's sure he could come up with something snappy, some retort that would put a smile back on Sam's face. As it is, he can barely stand up without needing to lean his weight on Sam. 

"Come on," Sam says again. "I've got you." 

"Yeah," Dean says. "But do you know how much?" 

He passes out to the sound of Ogou's muttering and the sight of watery shimmers in Sam's eyes. 

\--

Dean very rarely gets epic hangovers. Of course, he very rarely drinks as much as he did last night. This morning, though -- if it's even _still_ morning -- his head's threatening to split apart and shatter into a million pieces. 

"_S'what you get_," a very unsympathetic Ogou says. 

"Oh, _shut up_," Dean says, talking out loud even though he's addressing Ogou. He lifts a hand, rubs crust out of his eyes, and squints in the brightness. He's alone in the bedroom, naked under the sheets, and the sound of water running in the bathroom stops so suddenly Dean wonders if he's just gone deaf. He sits up, looks around and waits for the room to stop spinning.

Sam comes out of the bathroom a moment later, sweats low on his hips, face scrubbed red-raw. Sam leans on the doorframe, crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Dean. Dean stares back, takes in the tattoos on Sam's chest and arms. Every sign of every loa is perfectly healed, except for Ti-Jean's vévé. 

"They said you did well," Sam says, the first to speak and doing so with soft precision. Dean frowns, tries to think but can't over the noise of his skull keeping time with 'Moby Dick.' Sam's lips curve into a warm smile and he crosses the room, crawls into the bed and curls into Dean, pulling Dean back down. "Come on," Sam murmurs, ghosting his lips over Dean's skin, faint impression of a kiss. "I asked Kate and Rose to wait until dinner to bother you. You need to sleep." 

"You left," Dean says, voice rasping over a raw throat. Dean winces and Sam's fingers skitter over Dean's neck, flashpoints of fire as they move. "And I let you."

Sam shushes him, has Dean stretched out and splayed open, throws an arm over Dean and tucks his legs in with Dean's until they're all tangled up, just like the _badjikan_ and 'Zulie Freda. "I was scared," Sam says. "When I get scared, I run. Now shut up and get some sleep."

"You weren't mad at me?" Dean asks. He sounds pathetic, hungover and desperate, but he doesn't care. He tightens his hold on Sam, more to prove to himself that Sam is _here_ and this isn't a hallucination than to keep Sam close. 

"I wasn't mad at you. Upset you could read me so easily, I think," Sam admits, "but not mad. Can we do this later? I'd rather wait until you can look at me without squinting." 

Dean opens his mouth, licks his lips. "You'll be here?" 

Sam smiles, laughs into Dean's skin. Teeth nip, sharp little pain that goes away almost instantly, soothed by the swipe of Sam's tongue. "Always," Sam promises. 

\--

Dean wakes up abruptly. He's not sure why at first, not until he turns and sees Sam arching up from the bed, head tipped back and mouth open in a silent scream. Dean loses his breath, feels his heart skip a beat as he reaches out to shake his brother. He doesn't touch Sam, though, not when Dean takes in a breath and then sneezes three times in quick succession, the smell of burning metal sticking inside his nostrils and halfway down his throat. 

Parts of Mathieu's _konesan_ float through his mind, too fast for words, and Dean pulls his hand back as if stung. As much as he wants to help Sam, to shake Sam awake from whatever his brother's going through, this is Ti-Jean's doing, Ti-Jean riding Sam in the middle of sleep. Dean knows better than to touch someone ridden by the dwarf, no matter how much he wishes Sam didn't have to go through things like this time after time after time. 

"_The hell's he doing?_" Dean asks Ogou, horror seeping through every word. 

"_What the dwarf do, no one else know,_" Ogou replies. He sounds cautious, wary, and Dean frowns at the loa's tone. 

Dean frowns at the loa's tone. "_There's nothing we can do?_" he asks, now just as cautious. "_Sam's muscles are as tight as a guitar string right now. He's in for a world of hurt once Ti-Jean lays off._"

Ogou snorts. "_Could always be in for a world of hurt, _cheval."

Sadly enough, that's true. 

\--

It's another fifteen minutes before Sam lets out a breath and collapses back onto the bed, muscles giving out as his eyelids fly open. Dean's moving just as soon as Sam's stopped, has his hand hovering over Sam's face, unsure if touching his brother will just hurt Sam more. "Are you okay?" Dean asks, close to frantic. "Did he. What. Are you okay?" 

Sam reaches up, curls his hand around the back of Dean's neck, tugs Dean down for a kiss. Dean lets Sam move him, kisses Sam softly, still worried. When he pulls back, searching Sam's face, he sees shutters in the back of Sam's eyes. Dean takes a deep breath and says, "That looked like it hurt," picking his words carefully. "You'd let me know if there's anything I could do, right?"

"Yeah," Sam says. The smile on his face is more heartfelt, seems like it comes from a deeper place. Sam understands what Dean means, what Dean _really_ said; to be understood like that, so quickly and easily and perfectly, it's something Dean will never take for granted. "I'm sorry you had to see that but Ti-Jean didn't want to wait. He has other things to do."

Dean's eyes flick to Sam's tattoos, sees the cracked vévé heal as he's watching. "I don't mind," he says. "I'd rather know. Just _what_," he asks carefully, "were you two doing? Does he always ride you like that?" 

"Only when I'm being an ass," Sam replies, not joking one bit. "His way of punishing me. You as well, I guess. He wasn't too happy with you yesterday morning. He doesn't like people questioning his methods." 

The loa can fuck off, Dean thinks. He hasn't been too happy with Ti-Jean lately. Speaking of, "You never told me why you got so freaked out. All I said was that Ti-Jean rode you too rough. Why'd that push your buttons?" Dean pauses, says, "If you'd rather wait, I don't mind. I'm just. I don't mind, Sam."

Sam bites his lower lip and looks away, over Dean's shoulder and through the wall, with all the force of that distant gaze. "Why does Danny fit?" Sam finally asks. 

Dean looks Sam over, decides it's Sam's choice to do this now, here. He leans back a little, still touching Sam in five or six places, and tries to explain what he's come to understand about Sam's connection to the Petro face of Erzulie. "You both look harmless," he says. Sam raises an eyebrow; Dean rolls his eyes. "Y'know, as big as you, you've always tried to hide it and you can do a damned good job of it. It's just, Danny can be nice on first glance but she's an absolute bitch underneath. She looks harmless and then goes for the throat and no one can see her coming. And man, she can hold a grudge." 

Sam grins, ducks his head and looks up at Dean through eyelashes and bangs. The whole picture, with hunched over shoulders, leaning down and away, just proves Dean's point. "All right," Sam says, mild and quiet. "Karrefour?" 

"Oh, that loa's just scary," Dean says immediately. 

The light in Sam's eyes shifts and swirls; Dean grimaces as Ogou tenses in the presence of the black magic loa. "Are you saying _I'm_ scary?" Sam asks. It's still Sam, isn't Karrefour, but Sam's eyes are the key to deciding whether he's being ridden or not, shows Dean if the loa are even present, and Karrefour's still lurking, probably talking to Sam. Dean wouldn't be able to tell if it wasn't for his own loa's watchfulness and the gleam in Sam's eyes. 

"You can be," Dean says, as honest as he gets. "But it's more than that. Karrefour. Karrefour does whatever the hell he wants. If that doesn't describe you to a 't,' I don't know what would. Karrefour lays out plans about six steps deep and has back-up plans for each one." Dean looks at his brother, takes a deep breath, and adds, "Some people call Karrefour a demon. And when Dad and I went to kill the yellow-eyed demon, he said that you had a gift, the one that the loa changed." 

Dean pauses, thinks about that for a moment, and can't help narrowing his eyes, thinking. Sam takes the look, finally says, "Go ahead and ask." 

"The base of power," Dean says, not exactly sure what question he wants to ask, _how_ he should ask it. "Penny said that the _konfians kays_ get theirs from the cities they watch over. She says they feel at home, there. I'm already starting to feel that way about New Orleans." Sam's eyes shift, glitter with approval and something approaching lust. "But what about you? I haven't noticed anything in particular. No one else has, either. I mean, you love this city and you consider it home, but there's no shift in your power whether you're here or in Savannah or San Francisco. Is it because you're the _poto mitan_?" 

Sam studies him carefully. The loa swirl in Sam's eyes, ripples on the top of a deep, still pool. Just for a moment, Sam lets Dean see through the barriers, through all of the shutters and walls. Dean shivers, seeing it, and feels ashamed at his relief when Sam hides it away again. He always knew his brother was different, was somehow _more_ even before Sam ran away, even if he couldn't put what he knew into words. 

"Most people," Sam says, "think that New Orleans is the base of my power. It's been the base of power for every _poto mitan_ since we came to this country, every one except the first." 

Dean frowns, waits for Sam to go on. When Sam doesn't, Dean whispers, "Plaquemines. The first vodouisantes, they settled in Plaquemines. That's where all of the oldest vodou's kept. Your base of power is _Plaquemines_?" 

Sam smiles, a hard, cold smile that sends shivers down Dean's spine. "Not entirely. Whatever the yellow-eyed demon did to me, whatever gift it was talking about, the loa changed that. My base isn't anywhere except in my own body, my own gift. It's dangerous and I don't like it. I never have. It's an invitation for trouble and corruption. I went to the _memeres_ and asked them what they could do to help me. In the end, they drew a strand of it out and planted it in Plaquemines."

"When we were there," Dean starts to ask, "and it was affecting you. It was, but I thought it was in a _bad_ way." 

"I was holding the workings away from you, for one." Sam's still, isn't moving apart from the glimmering in his eyes. "That isn't the easiest thing. But yeah. It's a very _strange_ feeling to walk through something that's yours and yet isn't inside of your body. Like walking through a forest strung up with your intestines." 

Dean grimaces. That's a mental image he's fine not having. Instead of thinking about that, he asks, "You were holding the workings away from me? That's difficult? I thought it was just a matter of dumping river mud on my head."

Sam grins, all of the intensity bleeding out of his expression. "That let you see the workings. Getting _around_ them is trickier. I know enough hoodoo to do it but not enough to do it easily. I don't think many could do it easily, 'cept for the _memeres_."

The _memeres_. Penny asking about them, Sam mentioning them. It always comes back to them. Dean doesn't like them, gets chills thinking about that group of women, the click-clack of the fan, the heat in the air and the way they stared at him. There was something _unnatural_ about those women. Knowing that Sam had to have spent days down there, even weeks, letting them glide their fingers through his head, letting them untwist part of his gift, part of Sam's power, it doesn't bear thinking about. 

He pauses, tilts his head, stares at his brother. "Ti-Jean. How do they fit with Ti-Jean? How do _you_ fit with Ti-Jean?" 

"_Se bon ki ra_," Sam murmurs, shifting, all pretense of innocence gone. "Good is rare. It's something Ti-Jean likes to say." 

The way Sam's looking at him, Dean gets it. "You've always thought in grey," Dean says after a moment. "No black and white. Used to drive Dad crazy." 

Sam grins, says, "Yeah, I know. Ti-Jean, he's protective of his people and he's emotional. Where Karrefour will do whatever he wants, Ti-Jean will do whatever it takes. He rides rough but he's a good loa underneath. Well. As good as the Petro ever get. You know me, Dean. When it comes to the vodouisantes, I'll always do whatever it takes no matter how much I hate it."

Dean thinks about that little island in the middle of the bayou, of Sam's eyes, clear and full of pain. He thinks of Kirklin, thinks of Dennis. Whatever it takes. Sounds like Sam, all right. "Emotional, huh," he says. "Still. I said it before, Sam. I think he does it unnecessarily." 

"I'm not about to deny that." The loa in Sam's eyes swirl. The faintest scent of metal hits Dean's nostrils, metal tinged with blood. "I just don't like you knowing that." 

A cocky grin breaks open on Dean's face and he leans forward, ruffles Sam's hair. Sam bats his hand away, leans back and tries to fix his curls. It's a lost cause. 

\--

They pull on enough clothes to be considered decent then go downstairs for some breakfast. There's bread on the counter, a fresh loaf probably baked up the night before, and eggs in the fridge. Sam pushes Dean into a chair at the end of the kitchen and starts pulling things from cabinets: bowls and plates, a toaster, a frying pan. Dean watches, bemused, but can't help asking, "Didn't Marianne send anything over?" 

Sam snorts. "Yes, she did. We're fully capable of making one meal, though. I'm afraid you're going to have to deal with my cooking this morning."

Dean grimaces but it's playful; Sam's cooking isn't awful even if it isn't as good as Marianne's or Marceline's. As Sam's banging pots and pans around, doing something with eggs and cheese and fresh ground pepper that looks halfway illegal, Dean says, "So, this thing with Ti-Jean that you don't want me to know about. I think it's time to tell me a little bit more." 

"I don't want to," Sam says, looking at Dean over his shoulder for a moment. "But I will. Give me a sec, will you?" 

A hum of acquiescence and Dean leans back, watches his brother. Sam's wearing a t-shirt, worn in and thin, a faded-out red that used to be vibrant and is now muted, calm. It clings to his body, twists with every movement, rides up and shows defined hipbones and the curls of the lowest tattoos on Sam's stomach. 

Dean feels heat pool in his belly, a hunger that whatever Sam's cooking won't sate. 

"Later," Sam says. Dean looks up, sees his brother looking back at him, eyes filled with fire. "I promise." 

\--

Sam doesn't say another word until the food's done and that's only to tell Dean to stop gawking and eat. Dean does as directed, amused, though the food's good and disappears quickly. Once they're both done, sipping at third cups of coffee brewed from a tin of Café du Monde grounds, Dean belches, sits back and raises an eyebrow. Sam rolls his eyes. 

"Oh, come on, you promised," Dean says. 

"I know, I know." Sam shifts and Dean suddenly sees that his brother is _nervous_, not stalling for time. Sam honestly doesn't know what he's going to say or how to say it. 

Dean blinks, says, "Sam," but stops when Sam shakes his head. 

"I promised. And I do," Sam says, stumbling over his words, "I do want to tell you. I just. You know." 

"Yeah," Dean murmurs, leaning forward and placing his hand on the table, palm down. Sam covers Dean's hand with his own, no hesitation. "I know, Sammy." 

Sam rolls his eyes, mutters, "It's _Sam_, jerk." 

"Bitch." Dean turns his hand, grabs Sam's tight. "But I mean it. If you don't want to." 

"I know." Sam sighs, takes his hands back and rubs the heel of his palms into his eyes. It's Sam's _really_ deep-thinking face, one Dean hasn't seen in some time. "Listen, this isn't. I mean, it won't make sense. Or you won't. If it makes sense, you won't like it."

Dean shrugs even though Sam won't see it, not sitting like that. "Don't care. Tell me." He pauses, adds, "Even if it. I don't like the bitch but if it has something to do with Marinette, you can still tell me. I promise I won't overreact." 

Sam's hands fall to his lap and Dean almost winces when he catches sight of the utterly deject grimace on Sam's face. "Yeah, strangely enough, it has a tiny bit to do with Marinette. Not much of one. Mostly Ti-Jean. See, the thing is." He stops, takes a deep breath. "The thing is, Ti-Jean's a father. Not the father of the Petro, but a _father_. The way he feels about his kids, that's how I feel about the vodouisantes. That _loup-garou_, he's one of _mine_, one of my _kids_, and I let Ge-Rouge get so far into me that I came this close," he holds up two fingers, so close together that Dean can't see the space between them, "to killing him. One of _mine_, Dean." 

"Fuck," Dean breathes. "That explains the guilt trip." 

"On both sides," Sam says. He can't meet Dean's eyes. "So, uh. That's it." 

Dean's eyes widen. That's it? That's _it_? That can't be it. It doesn't go anywhere _near_ explaining why Sam was so afraid to tell him. He thinks, puts two and two together and finally says, "Shit, Sam. So you found a father figure. If I didn't freak the fuck out about Lissa, why would I freak out over a loa, huh?" 

Sam blinks. "Oh." 

"Yeah, _oh_, genius," Dean scoffs. "That's why the two of you fit and that's why you trust him enough to make him part of your trinity. I might think the dwarf's a little heavy handed sometimes but he's a damn sight better than Karrefour." 

"_Amen,_" Ogou pipes up. The corners of Sam's lips quirk upwards, slight but enough for Dean to see. 

Dean shakes his head. "If he's coming around more and more to help you wrangle the vodouisantes back into order, I don't have a problem with it. Seriously, that's what's been stressing you out about Ti-Jean? That's why you left yesterday?" 

"He did what he had to so that Ge-Rouge would leave," Sam says. "But the guilt, it was real. I've made so many mistakes, Dean. I don't like to say it, I sure as hell don't like to admit it, especially to you, but I've fucked up _so much_."

Honestly, for a smart guy, Sam can be pretty stupid sometimes. "I met with my vodouisantes yesterday," Dean says. Sam's eyes narrow and it's all too clear that he's wondering how this relates. The loa move in Sam's eyes; this time Dean can see the eddies Ti-Jean leaves behind, the cool glitter of Karrefour's absolute darkness, the sparkles of Danny's beautifully sharp glass, even the hints of iced crimson in the wake of Ge-Rouge. It almost takes his breath away and he has to shake himself to get back to his point. "You know what they told me?" 

Sam tenses then relaxes in what looks like a conscious effort. "No," he says, tone flat, blank. "What?" 

"That you're a better _poto mitan_ than they deserve," Dean says. Sam's eyes widen and his lips part, in shock or denial, Dean's not sure and doesn't care. "That they're trying to live up to you, trying to be worthy of you. You scare them but they love you, man. The amount of guilt you and Ti-Jean are heaping on yourselves, they're doing twice that to themselves."

Dean sits back, pleased he said his piece, watching Sam struggle with the truth of what Dean said. He can see the moment it sinks in, the moment Sam gives up and gives in. His head falls forward, hands clenched into fists on the table, and Dean can see Sam's shoulders rise and fall too quick for mere breath. 

He stands up, crouches at Sam's side, and places his hand high on Sam's thigh. "Come on," he murmurs, quiet. "Back to bed." Dean stands, offers a hand to his brother. Sam looks up, eyes bright, and slides his hand into Dean's. Sam is warm when he leans down to kiss Dean, to press one of the softest kisses against Dean's lip that Dean's ever experienced. His head whirls and he finds himself out of breath, light-headed when Sam bumps his forehead against Dean's. 

"Thank you," he murmurs. "And tell Ogou that I know you trust me, even when I'm being an ass." 

"_Maybe just wanted my _cheval_ to know the truth,_" Ogou grumbles. Dean can hear the joy under the loa's tone, though, a slip-slide easy joy that seems natural even coming from a hunter. It sends chills down his back. 

This has all suddenly become too much for him to handle. 

Sam is looking at him with eyes that are too deep, too big, and if Sam was anyone else at any other time, Dean would run. As it is, as it stands, Dean plants his feet and says, "Thinking 'bout a nap. You coming?" 

"Not yet," Sam mutters. "But _Ayizan_, do I want to. Days since we fucked. I _miss_ it." 

They leave the kitchen and go upstairs. Dean undresses Sam and pushes his brother toward the bed; he watches as Sam crawls under the sheet and leaves space for Dean. 

Sam looks more at peace now than he ever has before, more content and comfortable. This life, it isn't what either of them expected, isn't what either of them wanted. Right here, right now, though, Dean doesn't want anything else. 

He sheds his clothes, joins his brother in bed. Sleep comes quick and easy, Sam's ear pressed to Dean's chest to listen for a heartbeat, Dean's hand over the tattoo of his name on Sam's hip.


End file.
